Notorious Bandit Killed New Britain Officer, Then Cursed The Hangman

This 1925 photograph shows Gerald Chapman in custody in 1925, after he was captured for the killing of Officer James Skelly during a burglary in New Britain.

This 1925 photograph shows Gerald Chapman in custody in 1925, after he was captured for the killing of Officer James Skelly during a burglary in New Britain. (Courtesty of Boston Public Library, Leslie Jones Collection)

Though Chapman denied involvement in the murder of Officer Skelly, his murder trial went on for 6 days, and the jury deliberated for 11 hours before finding him guilty. He was sentenced to death by hanging and executed on April 6th, 1926.

Though Chapman denied involvement in the murder of Officer Skelly, his murder trial went on for 6 days, and the jury deliberated for 11 hours before finding him guilty. He was sentenced to death by hanging and executed on April 6th, 1926. (Courant File Photo)

Years before John Dillinger, "Baby Face" Nelson and "Pretty Boy" Floyd, there was Gerald Chapman.

Chapman — dubbed "Public Enemy No. 1" by both the press and authorities prior to the FBI's official use of the phrase — was criminally active in a number of states, but it was the murder of a New Britain police officer that led to his execution.

Born George Chartres in New York in 1887, Chapman stayed out of police blotters until 1907, when he had his first foray into crime: jewelry theft. He would be in and out of prison from that point on for other petty thefts. During his longest stint — 8 ½ years at Auburn Correctional Facility in New York beginning in 1908 — he learned more about how to be a successful criminal from more experienced burglars, robbers and counterfeiters.

"He was shot while on duty by a coward," said Father Keating of St. Joseph's Church in New Britain, according to the next day's Courant. "You have seen him out in front of this church Sunday after Sunday directing traffic and watching out for the safety of you and your children. This morning he took his life in his hands when duty summoned him, and now he is at death's door, with his fate in the hands of the Great Director of all traffic."

Skelly later died. Chapman got away.

"Many in Connecticut and the rest of the country … couldn't believe that Chapman, the class of the criminal world, could stoop to a petty burglary," The Courant wrote in a 1964 story about Connecticut's greatest trials.

The eventual capture of Chapman in Muncie, Indiana, might not have happened without a clue turned up by then-Connecticut State Police Commissioner Edward J. Hickey.

While searching a Springfield office that housed Chapman's burglary tools, Hickey found an American Express Railway tag with a Muncie address written on it. On Feb. 8, 1925, The Courant would call Hickey's clue "one of the most dramatic discoveries that has ever figured in the long and colorful annals of crime."

Hickey contacted authorities in Indiana who then watched the location closely until Chapman was apprehended and taken into custody after a brief shootout.

"While Indiana police took the major share of the credit for his capture, they would never have known where to look had it not been for the expert police work of Edward J. Hickey," The Courant wrote in 1953.

Chapman was extradited back to Atlanta to serve the rest of his federal sentence but Connecticut wanted to try him for killing Skelly. Federal authorities agreed to extradite Chapman to Connecticut, while still maintaining his status as a federal prisoner.

In an open-and-shut trial, Chapman was found guilty of murder — a crime punishable by death.

Letters poured in from across the country in support of Chapman, whose gentlemanly demeanor and audacious criminal spirit captured the public's imagination.

One supporter from San Diego who urged the governor to commute Chapman's death sentence to life imprisonment wrote: "His crime is not half as revolting as that of [convicted murderers] Loeb and Leopold who are enjoying ruddy good health. [Alleged murderer] Harry Thaw and [rape and manslaughter defendant] Fatty Arbuckle are free men. As long as the very rich can commit murder with almost a certainty of getting away with it I, for one, certainly do not believe in killing a man because he has not enough filthy lucre to employ a high priced lawyer. If there has ever been a case of a wealthy man being executed I would like to know about it."

As a guard put a black cap over his head, Chapman asked, "What are you putting that damn thing on me for?" The Courant reported.

Then while having his chin lifted, an angry Chapman said, "Take your damn hands off."

Chapman's final words — considered cursing at the time — were not well-received.

"In this last act of his lurid life, those who knew him for what he was and had regarded him as but a nice little rat in a cage, concluded that he had acted true to form," The Courant wrote in a story that said Chapman "swore profusely as doom neared."

While most states at the time used traditional gallows, Connecticut employed a device known as the upright jerker. A rope lowered from the ceiling and was placed around the prisoner's neck. Once initiated, 300 pounds worth of iron counterweights were released, jerking the prisoner into the air. A sudden death was the intent. For Chapman, it was anything but.

The Courant reported that he hardly moved as the heavy strap was drawn around him, "completing the effect he gave of a human package consigned to eternity."

His body swayed in the air for nine minutes — "shivering as the muscular reflexes gradually subsided, and heaving deeply" — before he was pronounced dead at 12:13:15 a.m.

Despite the millions he had stolen, Chapman left behind no estate other than a pair of collar buttons and a book of synonyms.

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